


Surrender and Control

by Gowombat83



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Sex, Casual Sex, Lyrium Addiction, M/M, Smut, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 05:29:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15745236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gowombat83/pseuds/Gowombat83
Summary: The Knight-Captain can't allow his external facade falter, showing any weakness would be his downfall. But the pressures of his trauma and the responsibilities of his title are heavy, and sometimes he needs to set the burden aside, if only for a moment.





	Surrender and Control

It was late enough that the streets of Kirkwall were almost bare. Like the turning-point of a tide there was a weight to the air, a moment of stillness at the apex of the twice-daily change between a Kirkwall day and its darker counterpart. There was an undeniable rhythm to the city; it inhaled bright sun and heat, the bustling commerce of the market squares dotted throughout and the typical cacophony of a sea-side existence, and exhaled a pervading atmosphere of menace, where gangs and cutthroats reigned and it was worth a man’s life for the mere promise of loot in his pockets. It was in this short hour of transition between one world and the next as the final stragglers of the day hastened towards home, eager to vacate the courtyards and laneways that would soon be given over to the denizens of the night, that Cullen made his move. It was as close as he could come to being invisible in a city where his face was one of the most recognisable.

The Knight-Captain made a purposeful exit in one direction so as to be seen by any curious eyes, then at the first opportunity he ducked into the shadows of an overhang and donned a warn hooded cloak of nondescript grey before doubling back, affecting a hunched scuttle as he made his way towards his true destination.

Keeping his face and distinctive wheaten curls covered, Cullen blended in as just another body racing against the oncoming night. He moved through the deepening shadows, keeping to the lesser streets and alleys to reach the right courtyard. Earlier that day he’d been both surprised and pleased to find the mark in the prearranged spot, it had been two weeks since the last time. Reaching his destination he barely glanced at the neglected front entrance, instead continuing to slip down a narrow corridor between two tall buildings to the back door. Always at this point there was half a breath where he fearing he’d find the door locked and the key missing, but as he rounded the corner and neared the recessed portal his anxiety eased as he spied the tell-tale red tassel hanging among the ivy fronds that partially concealed the door.

There was a slight tremor as he reached out and turned the key- he could never tell if it was apprehension or anticipation that made his hands shake and his pulse quicken, and it didn’t matter. Cullen hung the silver key on a hook by the door after securing it behind him. The hush of the dark and dusty cellar only served to heighten his nerves as he picked his path through the labyrinthine basement and abandoned back rooms under the sprawling mansion. In the main hall Cullen took one of the twin curving staircases to the second level, a warm yellow glow emanating from the large great-room that served as the main living space was the only point of colour in the bleached gloom.

Cullen shrugged off his cloak and draped it over the back of a broken chair as he stepped up to the table, a glass of red sat waiting for him before an empty seat. He picked up the drink and gave it a swirl, sipping as he sat.

“How long do you have?” Fenris asked.

“How long do you need?”

“As long as it takes.”

“Then that’s how long we have.”

The pair sat in silence, not companionably but there was also no discomfort. This was a familiar dance, and it would wind its way to the inevitable conclusion as it always did without any insistence from them.

They drank in the wine and the firelight from the hearth. After the first glass was emptied Fenris wordlessly refilled Cullen’s before topping off his own.

“I was surprised to see the mark today, any particular reason?”

Fenris downed the last of his vintage before standing, setting the glass among the numerous matching rings stained into the faded paintwork. He stepped between Cullen’s knees where he was reclined in his seat with one elbow propped lazily on the tabletop.

“Does it matter?” he asked, his tone lacking inflections of either irritation or amusement.

“I suppose not.”

Cullen swirled the last of his vino and tossed it back in one unhurried mouthful before setting down his own cup. He sighed on the exhale as he settled his palms on the back of the elf’s thighs, absently massaging the tensile muscles, narrow but powerful Cullen well knew. Tugging the man a step closer he rested his forehead lightly against Fenris’ hard, flat abdomen. Hands kneading rhythmically, he drew them higher until his knuckles grazed the soft mound at the juncture between Fenris’ legs. At the feel of long dextrous fingers pushing into his hair, nails scraping his scalp, Cullen hummed and nuzzled into his stomach. Eyes closed he sucked in a deep breath through his nose and leaned into the motion of swirling fingers, his hands gripped more firmly around the smaller man’s thighs. After a silent moment, Cullen enjoying the tingling sensations elicited by Fenris’, touch he pulled the man to straddle his lap, sitting back and blinking hazily up into the elf’s expressionless face. Cullen didn’t expect anything else- they both knew what this was.

Fenris desired control, having been denied it as a slave and denied it even still since his escape with the threat of his Master the swinging sword above his head, he wanted nothing more than to be his own master, if only for a time. And Cullen, he had power, he had control, more than he wanted. It was a burden he could never lay down, never able to let go. Always watching and being watched, he was as much a prisoner as Fenris had been- both slaves to the whims and wants of others. It was their common ground- that, and a deep fear of magic. It’s what drew them together, both seeking something only the other truly understood. It was a distraction.

Fenris growled low in his chest and scrunched his fists in the gilded curls, exposing Cullen’s throat as he bent his head back. This was what they wanted, why they were both here- a reversal of roles.

Fenris had the Knight-Captain at his mercy. A man afeared. A Master that commanded obedience from commoner, Templar, and mage alike, seated before him with his neck bared and offering himself up to Fenris’ control.

A tightness that perpetually bound the Templars chest loosened as he relaxed into the unforgiving grip. Fenris was in control, and _Cullen_ – he didn’t have to be. He felt his body go limp, the tension bleeding from his bones in a rush of relief and he breathed in, filling his lungs in a way he hadn’t been able to since his last visit.

Cullen blinked languidly into hard green eyes, his own amber depths thick with both want and apathy.

“You know what to do,” Fenris said lowly.

He did know, and Cullen dragged his palms over the flat plane of the elf’s ass and narrow hips to the laces at the front of this groin. He didn’t hurry, they had time, and Cullen wanted to make the most of his respite.

As the laces came away and the leather fell open he returned his grip to his slender hips and lazily nosed his way down. He mouthed over the thin cotton that was the last barrier between them; seeking as a sightless babe seeks the nipple.

For a while he suckled and mewled into the elf’s body, over skin and fabric both, fingers flexing in a mindless rhythm at his sides as Fenris watched from above.

“Enough.” A quiet command, but a command none the less.

Cullen slipped his fingers into the band circling the smaller man’s waist and pushed the layers down to his knees in one smooth move. Faced with a half-hard member Cullen wasted no time. He licked with the broad flat of his tongue from root to tip before swallowing it whole. He could only do this before Fenris reached his full length, which usually took the elf some time. It gave Cullen the leisure to take his pleasure; rolling and sucking and tonguing as he slid a hand down to fondle the velvety sack beneath his chin. The familiar sense of satisfaction bloomed as he felt the elf grow upon his tongue. A deep hum in the back of his throat drew a strained grunt from his taciturn benefactor- Fenris was a largely silent bed partner and any sounds Cullen could pull from him were hard won and a personal source of pride.

Suddenly stepping back Fenris withdrew himself from between Cullen’s lips, his hands still clenched between golden ringlets he pulled his head back with a force just this side of pain. The slightest hint of a smirk pulled at the former slave’s lips as he noted the sharp defiance behind the leonine eyes- but Cullen would never openly object.

“Still you resist,” Fenris murmured in his deep gravelled voice- a begrudging respect waring with exasperation. Just as it took time for Fenris to ease into taking control, it took time for Cullen to let it go. It was these little games, small acts of defiance or submission and subsequent reward or punishment that paved the way to total surrender – the ultimate goal.

With a swift yank on his hair Cullen was pulled from the chair to crash hard on his knees at the elf’s feet. He supressed a hiss of pain, certain he’d just lost a handful of curls from the root. Ignoring the dull throb in his knees Cullen breathed deep and let all emotion drain from his body, starting with his expression. When he’d schooled himself into a semblance of calm he was rewarded, Fenris released the hard hold on his hair to gently grip the sides of his head instead.

Small thumbs pressed slow, firm circles at the hinge of Cullen’s jaw until his mouth fell open and he felt himself relax. As his shoulders lowered and his breathing levelled out he was ready to accept Fenris’ almost full erection. He felt the pleasing weight of it on his tongue but knew better than to begin until he was told. Gently Fenris rubbed his engorged head back and forward along the length of Cullen’s tongue with perfectly controlled flexes of his hips. When he was satisfied that Cullen was suitably pliant he curled one hand under Cullen’s chin and coaxed his jaw closed to suck softly on the head. The pace he adopted was measured and soothing, and Cullen felt his eyes slide shut as he let himself relax into the rhythm of it, suckling as a newborn to the teat. The moment he tasted the salted bitterness of precome though, Fenris eased himself out from between Cullen’s lips. His eyes fluttered open and met the steady green gaze that looked down on him from above. Fenris’ expression was smooth; if Cullen didn’t know him so well he’d say he looked bored but it was about as soft as the elf ever got- a subtle smoothing at the point of his mouth and corner of his eyes. It was an affirmation that Cullen had pleased him.

Reaching down with one hand Fenris wrapped his long, strong fingers around an elbow and urged Cullen to his feet, hitching his pants he lead him to the low set bed just outside of the brightest ring of firelight. Cullen offered no resistance as he followed, stopping when he was bid and standing passively as he was undressed. Fenris’ nimble fingers making short work of his sturdy leather boots, simple shirt and leathers, discarding the garments on a bench before the fireplace.  He stopped Cullen with a gesture when he moved to reciprocate. Removing his clothing he put them on the same bench and turned to face Cullen- both men bared and hard as they regarded each other. They both understood that the pause was a courtesy, an opportunity to back out before they crossed that invisible line. This time, as with all their previous trysts, neither flinched from stepping over it.

Nodding acknowledgement Fenris stepped into Cullen’s space, his piercing green eyes stared up at the head-taller man through his stark white fringe. He began to unlace the wide leather cuffs that he wore encircling his wrists- a keepsake from his time as a slave- and as he slid them off Cullen presented his own forearms. One by one he was laced into the cuffs.

Surrender. Slave. Master.

With the transfer of power complete Cullen felt the last vestiges of responsibility relinquished. It was absolute liberation and everything he came here for.

The elf gave him a moment to savour the euphoria, at the same time he could see Fenris visibly gathering the reins of control to himself. The idea of handing himself over to anyone should terrify Cullen, and certainly there was always an element of apprehension in what that mean. But he trusted Fenris with this as he could never have trusted anyone else to protect him at his most vulnerable; not Greigor, not Hawke, not even Meredith – especially not Meredith. But Fenris, _he_ understood that control came with responsibility. He was intimately familiar with the worst kinds of abuse one could suffer at the hands of those who misused their power. If Cullen could trust anyone to respect his gift, to fully understand the gravity of it, it was the former slave.

Fenris sucked in a deep breath and pulled an air of strength about himself.

“On your knees Boy,” he instructed, raising a hand palm-up toward the bed. Cullen sank gratefully to his knees on the soft mattress. Boy – not Cullen, not Knight-Commander. As Boy, he was free of the memories and obligations attached to those identities. The elf raised a hand and brushed his fingertips tenderly down the side of his face. Every touch, every decision Fenris made was an enactment of everything that had been missing from his own experiences under the Tevinter Magister’s control.

“Look at me Boy,”

At the gentle command Cullen locked eyes with his Master, his chest fluttering as the elf sank to his knees in front of him. He leaned in to place his palms flat to Cullen’s broad chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath, feeling his heart throb beneath his hands for just a moment before they began to roam. The touch was feather light, caressing as he traced the planes and contours of the larger man’s impressive body. Tipping forward Fenris brushed his lips across Cullen’s, enticing him to open. After a few light passes Cullen’s lips parted, and the elf finally anchored their mouths in a slow, careful kiss. Before long their tongues met in a languid caress inside Cullen’s mouth while two pairs of hands moved in endless patterns, dragging rough palms and exploring fingers across their heated skin.    

“Boy,” Fenris muttered through shortened breaths, “lay on your back.”

Cullen’s pulse jumped. While they often changed things up when they tumbled, he particularly enjoyed being pinned beneath the weight of his master, watching Fenris fuck himself over Cullen’s prone body. He enjoyed the added frustration of not being allowed to touch or direct their movement. It was the ultimate act of surrender to let Fenris pleasure him while also pleasuring himself.

He lay flat and without being asked he gripped the edge of the mattress above his head. The rules were always the same; Fenris would have total freedom while Cullen had none. When satisfied that Cullen had complied with his direction the elf kneeled beside him on the low bed. Catching Cullen’s eyes the blonde man nodded at the unspoken question, only then did Fenris slither a slender leg over his abdomen and seat himself over his hips, Cullen’s rigid cock trapped between them.

Fenris began to rock slowly, his own proud cock sliding alongside Cullen’s on his abdomen. The master reached for the jar of oil on the floor by the bed and slicked them both from root to tip, making sure to give each hard cock a few extra strokes while maintaining a steady rolling glide. When Cullen was glistening with oil, the excess dripping down over his sack and between his cheeks, Fenris reached behind to apply some of the slick to his own hole. Satisfied with his quick preparations he lifted and grasped Cullen by the thick root, and angled the head back to tease himself, easing the flared head through the first ring with ease. He contented himself with shallow-fucking just the tip, knowing it would drive Cullen’s need –and his own-  higher.  And it did.

Cullen writhed and moaned with escalating need, but each time he tried to thrust himself up into the elf’s body Fenris raised up on his knees out of reach until Cullen’s hips were flat again on the bed beneath them. The effort it took to keep still made the muscles of his thighs bulge and quiver. Bracing himself on Cullen’s hard chest Fenris lowered again taking Cullen’s full length inside, and fucked himself on Cullen’s cock. Fenris was typically a silent lover though Cullen made enough noise for them both when the elf set a hard rocking pace. Only when he was panting, and both men had a light sheen of sweat on their skin did he withdraw, leaning forward to swallow the soldiers moan with a hard kiss.

As they kissed the former slave repositioned himself between Cullen’s twitching thighs, bending his knees and pushing them up to expose him to Fenris’ prodding prick. So hard from the ass-fucking he’d just enjoyed he immediately began to hump his way into the willing Templar, a long low groan rumbling from his throat as he bottomed out. Wasting no time the elf proceeded to fuck him, picking up a steady, rolling pace of hard trusts and smooth ellipses that he knew would bring them both.

In minutes they were both panting hard, beads of moisture on their foreheads and matting in the golden fluff on Cullen’s broad bellows of a chest, and his swinging dick leaked cum into his dark ochre curls. Cullen let himself go in the moment, surrendering himself to Fenris’ thorough dicking. As the pressure built- a penting up of heat and want low in his gut- Cullen’s vocals escalated; each pump of the elf’s cock into his hungry hole pushed the air from his lungs along with loud grunts and groans, while his eyes rolled back into his head. This is what he came here for; the absolute surrender to pleasure, and by the deep furrows of Fenris’ brow, the narrowing of his lust-blow eyes, he was rapidly following Cullen to the brink.

Cullen was awash with sensation, all blending together in a tide of pleasure that dunked and rolled him until he didn’t know which way was up. He felt the iron-tight grip of his masters hands on his hips as his body absorbed the jolt of each hard thrust, his knees were lifted high leaving boneless feet flopping around at the end of his legs as he encouraged the elf to delve even deeper.

“Sweet fucking Andraste, Boy!” Fenris roared, shoving his cock as deep as he could into Cullen’s clenched arse, dragging a loud wordless bellow from the Templar as he filled him with hot cum, Cullen’s own painting his stomach and chest.

That was what Cullen had been waiting for, craving for, since their last encounter. The lyrium-infused spend coated his insides in heavy pulses, and its song harmonised with the blue already in his blood and his bones- a welcome fix that set him adrift in a blissful haze.

He didn’t know how long he floated, but when Cullen came back to himself it was with the weight of another body across his own and a soft puff of breath on his neck. Fenris wasn’t asleep, he could tell by the subtle rigidity in the form draped over his own, and the soft hiss as his deflated cock suddenly squished out of Cullen like a fat wet slug. His body had absorbed the lyrium-cum though, less cleaning he supposed.  With the return of higher thought Cullen once again felt the oppressive weight of his responsibilities and his memories settle about his shoulders. The respite never lasted as long as he would have liked, but any distance at all from himself and his title was a blessing and he was grateful for it.

After a time the elf stretched and rolled with a flop to the mattress beside the big warrior. They didn’t speak as Cullen began to redress- there wasn’t any need to. It wasn’t affection, it wasn’t even friendship really, but they each got something they needed from the interaction, and there was a mutual kind of comfort in that.

**Author's Note:**

> Please don’t mistake this as any kind of healthy relationship. It’s not. It’s two fucked up people who are trying to make sense of their painful and frightening realities to find some form a peace, even if only briefly. They’re damaged and are just doing the best they can to survive- right or wrong.


End file.
